


The Brazilian

by little_spider



Category: Journey into Mystery, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Boners, F/M, First Dates, Friendship, Inappropriate Humor, Pain, Pubic Hair, Romance, The Author Regrets Nothing, bad puppies, embedded chaucer references, lots of pain, thori the hel-hound puppy kind of took over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_spider/pseuds/little_spider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brazilian

Darcy breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. Slow and steady. She was a resolute badass, a grand high mistress of pain resistance, a Houdini when it came to awkward body situations. She could do this. In through her nose, out through her mouth.

A moment later, a piercing shriek echoed through the entire residential floor of Avengers tower. It shattered the stillness of an otherwise serene Chinese take-out night in the lounge: Clint Barton froze in the middle of delivering the most wicked harsh titty twister in existence to Tony Stark; Thor went rigid with horror, two eggrolls halfway to his mouth; Pepper stood paralyzed by the counter.

It tore through the R&D lab on the floor above, where Jane Foster's coffee cup fell from her shaking hand and shattered on the floor.

It ricocheted through the bathroom of Steve Rogers, who started violently and dropped the comb he'd been using to meticulously arrange his hair.

It broke through Bruce Banner's peaceful meditative balance on his balcony so that he toppled bodily onto his side off his zabuton.

"Avengers assemble," Steve announced mournfully to Jarvis. He looked sadly at his comb. "I guess my date is off."

"I may have just farted from terror," said a very pale Barton.

"Oh my fuck, Pepper, it's a Nazgûl," Stark whimpered in horror.

A small hand snuck around Thor's shoulder and snatched his eggrolls. "Nay, Master Stark, by the greatest of mighty Fucks, 'tis a dying bilgesnipe!" piped Loki. (Thor scowled thunderously at him.)

"Darcy," Pepper whispered, her hand to her mouth.

"Darcy!" Jane Foster shouted, and bolted for the elevator.

In her room, Natasha Romanoff maintained her perfect handstand. "Real Housewives of Moscow" continued to play on the television. Her eyes closed slowly. A single tear streamed down her forehead. "Darcy."

Bruce Banner curled up in a fetal position. "I think I need a vacation."

*****

Three hours earlier, Darcy Lewis had been contemplating what to wear for what was quite possibly the most momentous evening of her entire damn life; it was a toss-up between the royal blue sheath dress and fuck-me heels or the purple patterned babydoll dress and wedges. Then again there was the broomstick skirt and sandles, and a wrap shirt. Though a wrap shirt was liable to be downright pornographic, curse her grandmother's double-G-sized boob genes. Darcy figured that if she did end up wearing it, it should definitely be with some high-altitude heels so that Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Spangled didn't spend the walking and standing portions of their evening struggling harder than necessary to avoid the visual gravitational pull that was her chest.

These thoughts led naturally to the question of what kind of undergarments would be appropriate for the evening, and the (of course) related question of to what extent, if any, the date would lead to the general regions of said undergarments. The undergarments' question was easily answered: a screaming purple and lace matching set was dragged out of retirement, less because they were the most attractive set she owned and more because they constituted the only matching set that the resident Hel-hound puppy, Thori, had not set on fire and danced around while howling "burn, motherfuckers, burn!" (She'd learned by now to not leave random laundry scattered on the floor.) The purple ended up being passable, she decided, saluting her full-length mirror with an "Oh Captain, my Captain!"

Unfortunately, though, there was an alarming amount of dense shrubbery bursting out of the sides of the panties. Ah, this would not do, not at all. Darcy grabbed a robe, broke into Thor's room and stole his beard trimmer. A few minutes later and, _voilà!_ , the bushes were trimmed. But it still wasn't quite right. This was a special night. She wanted to overwhelm him. She wanted to feel sexy. She wanted to introduce him gradually to all the wonders of womanliness and girly-parts. And while it probably wouldn't happen _tonight_ , Darcy figured that you really never knew. Steve might end up being a total freak. Best to be ready. She threw the beard trimmer into the sink and went in search of Pepper, who was the expert on all earthly things.

"Darcy, why are you in your robe?"

"I need to find a beauty salon, stat." She let Pepper in on her plan.

"That's a terrible, horrible, no good, very, very, _very_ bad idea. No." Pepper was adamant.

"One does not go into this kind of thing blindly," said Natasha. "And trust me, you will not want anyone near that general vicinity afterward."

Jane spit out her coffee. "Steve probably hasn't even gotten to third base in his life, Darcy! It's needless pain!"

This would be a solo mission, then. With Jarvis's help, of course.

"Are you sure that's an entirely good idea, Miss Darcy?"

"Dammit, Jarvis, I know what I'm doing!"

"Very well, Miss Darcy. The car will be waiting for you out front in ten minutes. Mr. Hogan is more than discrete."

And so, an hour and one stealth-mission to a high end beauty products store later, Darcy set up shop on the edge of the bathtub, her trusty new jar of hard wax heated up, nethers trimmed to what she hoped was something like a quarter inch, and everything prepped and well-oiled according to directions.

The problems started when Darcy realized that scooping up a small amount of wax with the tiny wooden paddle was a much more complicated process than she had been led to expect by the little paper insert. There were gossamer strings of the stuff flying all over before she'd even managed to swipe the first glob of overcooked-pea-colored, lukewarm, taffy-textured stuff down where the sun don't shine. This was just a minor inconvenience, though. The price of beauty had always been high. And the high price of a possible encounter between Steve Rogers's adorable face and the Promised Land was going to be worth it.

After thirty seconds, Darcy tentatively flicked up a corner of the still-tacky wax and took hold of it. Now was the moment of truth! The instruction manual had been rather emphatic: "You MUST pull opposite the hair growth! You MUST pull straight back. Pulling UP can DAMAGE your SKIN!" She took a deep breath, gave herself an inner high-five, imagined that the whole thing would feel like ripping off a band-aid, and _yanked_.

Darcy Lewis considered herself experienced in and highly resistant to extreme physical pain. She had played on the women's softball team in college for half a semester, after all, and recovered admirably from the mild discomforts of strenuous workouts. There was that time that she'd managed to trip on her own feet while walking and bruised her ankle. And it was only two weeks ago that she'd been chopping vegetables in the communal kitchen while Steve had been making a spinach smoothie, and she'd gotten so distracted by the sight of his delectable posterior in those perfectly sized sweatpants that she'd chopped right into her thumb. Because Darcy had never dealt very well with the whole blood thing, she had keeled over onto the floor after about ten seconds, and vaguely come back to herself to the sight of Steve hovering over her like a very confused guardian angel, asking why she was sprawled amidst piles of sliced carrots. Sweet, sweet pain. Seeing her bloodied hand, he had actually scooped her up and swept her into the bathroom where he'd cleaned and bandaged her thumb before carrying her back to her room and settling her on the couch.

So yes, Darcy was a tough-as-nails soldier when it came to physical pain. But nothing could have prepared her for this torture. She swallowed a yelp and looked at the first oily chunk of wax, and the new smooth expanse of skin on her bikini line. Her eyes watered. But she soldiered on.

The second rip had her asking herself: _is this worth it?_ But deep inside she tried to picture Steve's clear blue eyes and adorable, nervous face when he'd asked her hesitantly if she wanted to go to dinner and "a picture" this coming Saturday night. Her gaze had slipped down to his arm briefly, and noted the way his tricep bulged out visibly from the cuff of his short sleeve shirt. "Darcy?" he'd asked anxiously, as she started leaning unconsciously towards his arm. She'd squeaked an "Aye-aye, Cap! I mean Mr. Rogers! Uh, I mean Steve!" and scurried away, thankful that she had not embarrassed herself by _actually biting into Captain America's salivating tricep_. (Half an hour later she ran back in a complete panic to clarify for him that yes, she would very much like to go out on Saturday. He blushed pink as a baby's butt and shuffled his feet before stammering that he'd pick her up at seven.)

The third glob of green, weirdly warm goo went on, further towards the center, under the pantyline. Now it was getting serious. This was a committment, the whole hog. A sacrifice for her country.

"Demon bitch! Slag of hell!" came a growl from outside the bathroom, followed by the sound of small puppy claws at the bathroom door.

"How did you get-- Fuck off, Thori! Jarvis, tell Thori to fuck off, please. I have to concentrate here." The smell of burnt carpet wafted into the bathroom. Stupid dog. "Thori, you did _not_ just set the floor on fire again!" She yanked the bathroom door open to find Thori lifting his leg over the burn spot on the carpet. At least he had put his own fire out.

"Miss Darcy, shall I summon young Master Loki to retrieve Thori?"

"No! Uh, I'm in a rather delicate condition, Jarvis. He's fine." The little dog turned to stare at her with glowing orange eyes.

Darcy retreated to the bathroom, took a deep breath, and yanked. And stopped abruptly. Searing pain rocketed straight out from her crotch through her entire body. It was like a million burning hot awls had gotten stabbed straight into her entire nervous system. She crouched down to sit on the edge of the bathtub and moaned sadly. After a minute she pulled at the strip of wax again, got about a millimeter, and froze. It was like her primitive lizard brain had shut down the entire operation. Thori padded into the bathroom and flopped on the small rug. If it were possible for a fire-spitting demon-dog to look sympathetic, well, he had the look.

"Is it worth it? Tell me, you evil little turd, is it worth the pain?" Thori grunted sadly in response. Darcy prodded gingerly at the waxed up area in question, noting that the skin was thinner and more sensitive ( _of course_ it was, as previous and far more pleasant proddings had told her). Perhaps the other side would be better.

On went another glob. As she waited the thirty seconds, Darcy looked at the jar of wax. "Surgi-wax," it was called. She should have known. "Surgi-wax: all of the pain, none of the anesthesia! Labial torture for the non-faint of heart!" would have been a better name.

"Now's the moment, doggie. I'm gonna try again." _Play through the pain, girl_. Darcy breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, and ripped.

*****

The Avengers assembled.

Jane arrived first, though, followed closely by Pepper. Darcy was curled up in a fetal position in the tub, moaning, when the two women stormed her apartment.

"Darcy, what-- oh my GOD, Thori, get your gross nose out of that jar."

"Jaaaaaane, I think I broke my vagina." A soothing hand patted her shoulder. Jane and Pepper made some vague feminine noises of sympathy.

"I am Thori, gargler of entrails!" Thori snarled.

"And I have globs of wax stuck to the sad remnants of my pubic hair and I just can't _do it anymore_ and I'm going to _die_ like this and meanwhile Steve is going to find out and hate me forever," Darcy wailed.

"Darcy, you're not going to die like this, and Steve will not hate you." Jane could say that, but it wasn't like she was having her first date with Thor tonight and had already ruined it forever by deciding stupidly to undertake a last minute epilation job on her hoo-ha.

"I'm sure there's some way to salvage--" Jane was interrupted by a booming on the front door.

"Darcy!" Steve shouted. "We're coming in!" Pepper raced to the door just as Mjölnir cracked a hole through it.

"No! No, guys, there's no need. Everything's under control here, okay? Darcy just got a little bit of a scare when Thori snuck up on her," Pepper lied smoothly.

"But she's crying. I can hear her crying!" Steve's face appeared at the hole in the door. He hadn't even pulled his hood up.

"Really, it's fine. Steve, she's fine. Ah, could you send in Natasha?" There were general murmurs of suspicion and worry rippling through the group of menfolk.

Steve's face appeared again. "Natasha goes in on one condition. Before we leave, I get to see Darcy herself, safe and sound."

"Done." They tried to do an exchange, Natasha for Thori, but the latter breathed flame at them and scampered off, growling something that sounded like "red-haired hell-bitch!"

Natasha entered and approached the bathtub with the same stony focus she had a month ago when assessing the damage inflicted yet again by Crusher Kreel on the financial district.

"Why is my life? How?" Darcy moaned sadly.

"I think you should let me take a look, Darcy."

"No."

"If you don't get out of the tub and let us help you," Natasha said, "then I will show Steve that picture you drew last Saturday."

"You wouldn't!" Darcy cringed from the betrayal. That had been a long night. Much beer had been drunk. The ladies of Avengers Tower had sung songs of praise about the admirable posterior of their Captain. (Tony's and Thor's had received honorable mentions.) Darcy had whipped out her sketchbook and illustrated the country's pride, rendering the glorious globes of Steve's cartoon ass extra-shiny. Crowds of over-wrought women surrounded it. The title of the piece read in all caps at the top: " 'MURKA, FUCK YEAH!"

Sniffling a little, Darcy hauled herself up, sat on the edge of the tub, and hesitantly displayed the damage.

"Okay this is why you get it done at a salon if you're going to get it done." Pepper dragged her hand over her face and sighed.

"I've seen worse," Natasha said placidly. "Though not much."

Jane just wrinkled her eyebrows and squeezed her thighs tightly together.

"I just wanted to be super sexy for him! You know, just in case things went south? And I mean south as in downward -- like, in my panties. And I thought that waxing would be a bit less complicated than this, you know?"

"Honey, it _is_ uncomplicated," said Pepper, "that is, when it's done by trained estheticians who do these things forty times a day."

"It's different for us mortals," sniffed Jane.

"Oh just stop, Foster! You almost never remember to shave your armpits, much less wax anything." Darcy was beginning to wish that Thori was her only company again.

"Well that's just because Thor likes it _au naturel_ , duh."

"Ladies, stop. We've got a job to do." The bickering went silent. Natasha instructed Jane to get a bottle of whiskey from Darcy's kitchen cabinet, and Pepper to brush Darcy's hair comfortingly. Then Natasha washed her hands in the sink. "What do you want to do, Darcy? Do you want to try to salvage this job, or would you rather abort the mission entirely?"

Darcy sat on the edge of the tub. On the one hand, there was the prospect of suffering yet more excruciating, truly sadistic pain. The message her body was clearly giving her was "Do not fuck with the _labia majora_." Figuratively, of course. There was also the added humiliation of having her snatch on display for two of her closest friends as well as the single most terrifying of all of Earth's Mightiest Heroes, who would presumably be doing the reconstruction job down below. Darcy glanced at Natasha's hands: they were small, deceptively delicate hands, but they were also fearsome weapons. Those hands had accomplished feats of strength: like strangling giant-sized Russian mob-lords, she imagined, or punching Doom-bots so hard that their metal heads turned inside out. Darcy shivered.

On the other hand, visions of her possible date passed before her eyes: cartoon hearts accompanied the image of herself and Steve shyly meeting each others' glances over dinner; Darcy would order a giant steak; Steve would order a giant steak; they would blush over the coincidence that they both liked their steaks cooked medium-well. Then they would get multiple flavors of crème brûlée for dessert. Steve would let her eat the crunchy burnt sugar crust from the top of his servings. Darcy would seductively lick the cream off of her spoon while winking at him. Then they'd go to the movies, and their hands would accidentally brush while digging into the popcorn carton. Their eyes would meet, they'd leap at each other from their back seats in the movie theater, and the night would end with his pretty, pretty face squashed deep in Darcy's gloriously smooth valley of destiny. She would be the woman who took his box-munching virginity. Porn-star screams would echo throughout her apartment, so loud that even Jarvis would blush.

"Darcy, remember what happened the last time you tried to seductively lick something off of a spoon? There was melted ice cream dripping out of your nose for an _hour_ ," Jane said, and handed her a half-full bottle of Talisker 18.

"And Steve doesn't like his steak medium-well. He likes it rare," Pepper said.

"Jarvis can't blush, Darcy," Natasha deadpanned.

"Lift my leg on the box-munching virgin!" Thori howled, and leaped at the whiskey bottle.

"Shit, was I talking out loud again?" Darcy moaned and dropped her head into her hands. The ladies nodded, their brows all wrinkled in sympathy. Darcy shoved Thori back and took a long pull from the bottle. She wiped her mouth with the back of one hand and took a deep breath. "I will soldier on," she said, and gave a half-hearted salute. Natasha's eyes crinkled in admiration, just a tiny bit. Darcy took another pull of the whiskey. It flooded her throat and belly with the fire of a warrior in battle rage. She steeled her face and swung her knees wide open.

Natasha met her eyes and grasped the end of the wax strip. "Are you ready? Count with me, on three." Darcy nodded.

"One," Natasha said.

"THIS," Darcy chanted loudly at the same time.

"Two," counted Natasha.

"IS," shouted Darcy. Jane snorted in the background.

"Death!" howled Thori.

"Three!" Natasha barked, and pulled straight back.

"SPARTAAAAAA-AAAAHHHHHH FUCKING HELL STOP IT!" Darcy collapsed forward over her knees, panting, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Thori started barking in short, ear-piercing yips. Pepper returned the bottle to Darcy's hands. She took a swig worthy of Ulysses Grant himself and sat up.

Natasha tossed the wax strip in the trash can and eyed her. Darcy raised her head slowly and met the other woman's gaze. She absently wiped snot off her nose with the back of her hand before nodding solemnly. Natasha nodded back, then deftly scooped up more wax from the jar on that ridiculous little paddle.

"Do you want a landing strip?"

Darcy sniffed and shook her head.

"Oh, honey," Pepper implored. "You can't go on with this pain. Nat, let me just get the baby oil."

"This is Darcy's choice, and her choice alone." Natasha's voice was cool as a cucumber, and deadly serious.

"I'm going to go on. It's for the good of America."

From the hall, Jane's shrill voice sounded. "No nononono, no, Bruce! It's no problem, we're fine! Just a little clean-up job in here, you know? Like a hair-dryer malfunction. Burned some stuff."

"You sure? I mean it sounds like something's really wrong in there. And I mean, I'm not even that kind of doctor, but since everybody thinks I am anyway, thought I'd offer to help."

"Ah, no, Bruce, it's totally fine! Nothing wrong at all! Just a little hair problem. Like, she used the wrong product in her hair." Darcy sighed. It would be great if, at some point in her life, Jane learned how to lie passably.

"My Jane," boomed Thor, "you just said it was the drying machine that caused Lady Darcy's distress. There is no need to deceive us. We, the Avengers, are here to assist." Natasha swore in Russian and shook her head.

All would really have been fine if Tony Stark had not chosen that moment to open his fat mouth. "Listen, Old Spice: I think what we're dealing with here are some Code Red Lady Problems." Pepper sighed and vowed to stab him in his sleep.

"Oh, no lady problems in here. I mean, that is, unless you count hair problems as lady problems. Head hair, that is. Not like, body hair, or anything. Head hair! Like the wrong hair product and then a broken hair dryer. It's really kind of a disaster, see." As Jane chattered, Natasha tapped against the latest wax strip. It was nearly time. "Okay, so what happened here was that Thori has been hanging out a lot in Darcy's apartment. And Darcy walked into the bathroom about ready to do her hair. But Thori had left her a little special present on the bathroom floor. Darcy tripped on the doorjamb and fell, and she landed right in it and it got all over her hair!" A chorus of generally grossed-out exclamations sounded from the other side of the door. Jane went on: "So Darcy showered _again_ , and went to dry her hair, but the hair dryer was broken, and it short circuited, and it burned some of her hair." Thori, meanwhile, was peeing on Jane's shoe.

"Just as long as she's okay. She sounds like she's in pain." Poor Steve. He was so earnest.

"Oh, no, Steve, she's just upset. I mean you know how Darcy gets, randomly screeching and stuff sometimes ... " Jane sputtered. She wasn't even really convincing herself at this point.

"Jane!" Natasha ordered. "Get back here, it's time. Menfolk, stand down! Your machismo heroics are not needed." Jane re-entered the bathroom. She and Pepper sat on either side of Darcy and took her hands. Natasha neatly got hold of the bottom of the now-stiffened wax strip.

It all happened at once. Without warning or a count-down, Natasha snapped the wax straight up. At the same time a kid's voice -- the absolute _last_ voice Darcy ever wanted to hear at this, the most humiliating moment in her life thus far -- called from the hallway for Thori. Darcy started shrieking along with the torturous wax, Thori scampered back into the bathroom spitting fire, and Loki -- **_Loki_** \-- scampered in after Thori, pulled up short, his face a horrified rictus of terror, and started shrieking as well. Then everyone started shouting at once.

"Oh Jesus H. Christ I can't -- Nat, stop!"

"So help me, kid, I will _END_ you!"

"Jarvis, shoot him with lasers or something, please?"

"By Ymir's most fragrant and fecund armpits, what devilry be this?!"

"Dr. Foster, I'm afraid my programming will not allow me to open fire on children. There are also no lasers in my arsenal at the moment."

Darcy whimpered, but she also heard herself give a wheezing laugh. She could only imagine what they all looked like to an eight-year-old kid, or to the equivalent of a couple-thousand-year-old supervillain dude reincarnated into an eight-year-old kid, or whatever the hell he was. Either way, short stuff had snatched up the offending pup to use him to block the horrifying sight and was now looking down at the sink

"Loki, you heard me say that the menfolk were not needed. So why are you here?" Natasha's voice was low and dangerous.

"I am not a 'menfolk' yet. I am but a boy. And my Thori was the cause of this ... " he waved his hand vaguely in their direction. "This .... direst of lady problems! I came to retrieve him." He shuddered.

Natasha closed her eyes, took three deep breaths, and turned back to Darcy. "What do you want to do?"

"I-- I can't do it anymore. Abort mission .... "

Jane patted her back. "For what it's worth, Darce, I think you're making the right decision."

"But Steve is going to hate me now. And what time is -- oh my God!" she groaned. "It's like quarter to seven! And I'm a complete fucking mess right now."

"One step at a time, honey." Pepper settled a towel across her lap for modesty. Darcy blinked tearfully at her, trying to smile. "Loki," Pepper continued, "if you want to make it up to Darcy for so rudely barging in here, you can go fetch some baby oil for us. Bring it back, leave it outside the front door, and _knock_ once when you've put it there."

"Baby ... oil of babies?" He glanced their way briefly, his voice quavering. "Oil of babies?! Like there is the oil of olives, and the oil of the sesame, and even the oil of walnuts that gives Master Stark the loose bowels? Midgardians make oil out of babies, too? _Monsters!_ "

"You go get it, or I will tell Thor that you were the one who slipped the extra-strength laxatives in his coffee last week." Natasha fixed him with her trademark death-stare.

Loki quailed. "I shall go!" But first he just had to reach into the sink and pick something up. "Is this Thor's beard clipping machine? Verily, it is!" He turned his head and met Darcy's eyes. "But I do not understand, Lady Darcy. A woman hath no beard. Why would you need this?"

Of course there was a little knowing smirk on his face, one of those that always struck everyone as really, really eerie when it showed up, like he knew far too much for the charming young scamp that he appeared to be, or that he was saying or doing something to deliberately get under everyone's skin while at the same time be able to play it off as innocent. Just like that, a shadow of Old Silvertongue looked out from the little boy's face. Something in Darcy just snapped right then, and she snatched a shampoo bottle and hurled it at his head, shouting "Get OUT, you midget-in-spandex little SHIT!"

Tiny Loki dodged at the exact right second, leaving the shampoo bottle to crash and split against the wall. "I shall return with this most reprehensible oil of babies!" and he was off, Thori grunting from where he was lodged tightly under his arm.

The next hour and a half went sadly, as Darcy sat in the bathtub with the baby oil, the shower curtain closed, and her three saviors tried to remain encouraging from where they sat on the bathroom floor, sharing the bottle. Darcy mournfully worked the rest of the gross-ass wax off of the sad remains of her mangled pubes, while lachrymose globs of shampoo dripped slowly down the wall, and while the Holy Hoo-Ha Trinity speculated from the bathroom floor as to whether Steve was a sad and lonely virgin who'd never seen a vagina in his life or whether he actually got more pussy on a regular basis than a damn alleycat, but was gentleman enough to stay classy about it. "I mean Captain _frakking_ America, you know?" Jane mumbled from where she lay flopped facedown on the floor. "Ladies throw themselves at him in droves. And probably like 90% of dudes do, too. I mean seriously, I feel like with some people even sexual orientation is just totally nuffilied, you know? Like Steve pretty much does that. But I mean he's not as hot as Thor. But still, you know?"

Jane revealing her Battlestar Galactica nerd roots and forgetting how to say "nullified" was the first step toward Darcy actually laughing a little. "Okay, Foster's cut off," she said, standing up and turning on the shower. She could hear Jane protesting sadly as Pepper and Natasha pried the bottle out of her hands and hauled her up so they could leave.

*****

Later, Darcy was curled up on her couch in her most worn out, comfortable hoodie and her fleecy -- what else? -- Captain America pajama pants, her hair damp and about to hit play on her favorite comfort movie. There was a knock on the door. "Miss Darcy, Captain Rogers is at the door," Jarvis reported.

Darcy groaned and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt down over her eyes. "Can you just tell him I'm not here? Like that I'm doing yoga with Natasha or something?"

"I am happy to do whatever you like."

"But?"

"But if I may make a suggestion, Miss Darcy? I would recommend that you answer the door."

Darcy lurched to her feet and shuffled over. As she started pulling it open she vaguely realized that she was clutching her worn-out stuffed Hulk, and that she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually washed her sweatshirt or her pajama pants. God, she was ridiculous. He was going to hate her forever.

But then the door was open, and he was standing there in his perfect sweatpants and a worn old t-shirt, a bouquet of daisies in one hand and a bag in the other hand.

"Thai takeout?" he gave a half-smile, looking hesitant. "Daisies for my girl?" Darcy burst into tears. "I'm sorry! That sounded really bad. You're your own girl, you know. Not, ah, a man's property. But I meant it like, I mean I meant that, if you _wanted_ to be my girl -- and still be your own girl -- that would be, I guess, that would be swell?" He looked a little hopeless.

Darcy cried harder and flung herself at him, squashing the daisies against his chest as she hugged him. He patted her awkwardly on the back with his free hand, and the plastic bag of takeout bumped against her butt.

"I thought that if you were up for it, you know, we could still have dinner and see a picture. If you wanted. We could just do it here."

Darcy nodded and whispered "You might actually be perfect. But only if you like my favorite movie. It's like a security blankie. I was just about to watch it."

He was smiling like a right little ray of sunshine. The thing about Steve was that he was actually the only person Darcy had ever met whom she didn't want to punch in the face when they had that sunshiny look about them. He had a big nose, too. She rather liked his big nose.

They went inside and he insisted that she curl up on the couch and be waited on, so he fumbled around in her kitchen until he found some plates and things, and then they settled down together to stuff their faces. He had even remembered to order her favorite -- Evil Jungle Prince Chicken. She hit "play" on the movie.

Steve jumped, of course, when the chest-burster alien fetus exploded out of John Hurt, but who didn't jump at that on first watch? It also gave them both a chance to shift a little bit closer together on the couch, and by the time Sigourney Weaver and Jonesy the cat had safely escaped the _Nostromo_ , his arm was around her, and he was absently stroking her sweat-shirted shoulder with his thumb. He fidgeted a little when Sigourney Weaver stripped to her undies in -- as Darcy told him -- "the shot that taught a whole generation of adolescent boys in the 80s how to masturbate." (And that was another thing that she had always liked about Steve: he didn't tend to refer to things like masturbation in conversation, but he didn't get uptight and huffy and, well, _1940s_ when Darcy herself did.) At that point they had dug out a pint of Chubby Hubbie from the freezer to share, and so the ice cream carton actually went flying when the alien showed itself again and Steve flailed, exclaimed "Golly!" and then clapped his hand over his mouth. Darcy leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Is that," he gulped. "Is that the last big surprise moment?"

"Yeah, it is, scaredy-pants." She sighed happily as the alien got blasted out into space, and snuggled into his shoulder. The credits rolled. Darcy thought about the ice cream that was inevitably melting somewhere on the floor, but Steve's arm and shoulder and body were warm and comforting, and very, _very_ appealing in other ways, so she stayed put.

"I'm sorry I ruined our date. I was really looking forward to it," she said quietly.

"Darcy, you didn't ruin it at all. If anything, I kind of like this better than going out." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm just sorry that you had such a scare this afternoon."

"Yeah, about that. It was really stupid. I wanted tonight to be perfect, you know? All these expectations of ourselves that we're taught to have, and you think that if you do everything to be beautiful, be sexy and -- God, the worst one -- be socially appropriate, you know, that the night will end up better somehow and the guy will like you more and want to go out again and maybe be your _boyfriend_ or whatever. That is, if you even like him, and of course I like you, or I wouldn't have gone out with you in the first place."

Steve was looking at her with a little frown between his eyebrows, and if she hadn't already known him, been in meetings with him and seen how he talked to other people, she would have thought that he was irritated. But he always frowned like this when he was concentrating on something, and especially when he was listening to someone talk to him. And that was what made her a little more melty inside because he wasn't dismissing her stupid girl babble, but he was actually interested in what she had to say, and he was frowning because he was _listening_ to her.

"So, like, it's not just about the hair, and the clothes, but it's about the makeup, and the skin. Like is your skin soft and smooth, and if it's not, if he touches you is he going to be grossed out by your hairs or whatever. All these little things! So I was trying to get everything right, and do you know what I did?"

"What did you do?" He was smiling now.

"I _waxed_ , Steve. I waxed! And it hurt so much that I was yelling and screaming. And the whole thing was embarassing." She dropped her head. "That's what happened."

He went a little blank then as he tried to figure out what 'I waxed' meant, and Darcy anticipated having to enlighten him about all of this, and then having to reassure him that no, she didn't do it because she assumed that he was the kind of guy that was going to look at her and then take a flying leap into her panties, but that it was partly about a confidence thing (and a bit of wishful thinking that at some point he'd want to take a flying leap into her panties). But then his eyes lit up and he _got it_ , and he looked horrified but he was actually hugging her and it was a sympathetic kind of horrified.

"But that's awful! And you feeling embarassed over it is part of what makes it awful, right?"

Darcy nodded tearfully. She was pretty convinced that he was perfect at this point, even though he hadn't asked her to bust out _Aliens_ yet.

"I don't really understand it, you know? I mean, when my buddy from school told me that women actually shaved their legs I was just confused. Why go to all that trouble? But then -- uh, I mean, now, I was flipping through a magazine that Pepper left on the coffee table, and right there was a how-to for how women should _wax_ all the hair off their legs."

Darcy's mouth hung open and she blinked several times. This, right there -- this was a get-out-of-socially-awkward-hell-free card, and he was offering it to her and he didn't even know it. There was this weird swooping feeling in her chest while he was saying something heroic and liberating about beauty practices and "you do whatever makes you feel beautiful and confident, Darcy, but, well . . . " He scratched his head awkwardly and bit his bottom lip a bit. His very full, pink, kissable bottom lip. "I, uh, I'll always think you're beautiful anyway, hairs and all."

She was pretty certain there'd been no LSD in the ice cream, but one never knew, because at that moment Darcy could have sworn that those cartoon hearts appeared in some kind of halo around his head, and an angelic choir started singing in the background. She sort of surged forward then and must have ended up clumsily smashing the remote into his crotch while she kissed him, because there was some kind of hard _thing_ down there and . . . _oh_. She pulled away a little and grinned lecherously.

Now, Captain America had faced down the Red Skull who, according to SHIELD archives, must have been one of the most frightening motherfuckers in the history of supervillains. He'd bested the Winter Soldier and did a 36-hour marathon smashing giant space whales one time. Just last month he'd raided an AIM base and successfully shut down a human-cyborg mutagenics experiment by leaping out of a 100-foot high ceiling vent and landing on top of a giant floating head thing and wrastling it to the ground (the subsequent episode would go down in Avengers history as "Rodeo Rogers and the bucking M.O.D.O.K."). And then there was two years ago, when the good Captain had looked staunchly into the face of Loki -- the _old_ Loki -- at his most apocalyptically batshit insane, marched straight past the Null Void the latter had opened, and announced "I'm going to have to take you into custody now, Mr. Laufeyson." This was right after Loki had sent a gang of his fire demon thugs against them, and the Avengers had just barely gotten out of it alive. The point was that Captain America feared absolutely nothing: demons, death robots, gigantic alien cetaceans, the apocalypse, or anything really.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was clearly terrified of popping a chub in the presence of a lady, if Darcy was judging correctly by his fire-engine red ears and the fact that he appeared to be looking for an escape route from their corner on the couch. Well, that, and his repeated anxious "I'm sorry, oh my goodness, I'm sorry" and the like.

"Oh shit," Darcy whispered. "You've never even gotten to _second_ base." He sort of gaped at that, but at least it distracted him from the misbehaving mega-super-soldier in his pants.

"Uh, I mean, I had asthma so I couldn't really run when I was a kid, but I did get to second base one time. I could probably do better now, I think." He scratched his neck nervously.

"You are actually perfect."

"Darcy I'm not perf--"

"Oh! No, you're right. You're not perfect. Well, not yet."

"Wha . . . "

She kissed him again. "Because you still haven't watched _Aliens_."

*****

Three hours later, Steve stood outside the door to his quarters and tiredly ran his fingers through his hair. _Aliens_ had scared him, to tell the truth, but he was reluctant to tell that to Darcy. She'd kept up a running commentary throughout the movie, though, and he suspected that it was as much a crash course in horror films as it was a distraction for him from the sheer terror. There hadn't ended up being any more awkward moments like before, and that was just fine with Steve. At the end of the night he'd kissed her cheek, and then kissed her hand, and felt his ears turn red (again!) when she had sort of body-slammed him with one of the most enthusiastic hugs he'd ever gotten in his life. "Let's do it again soon, tiger," she'd said, and grinned at him.

Steve heard a wet little panting noise and the familiar smell of burning sulfur from around the vicinity of his feet.

"Hey, little fella. What brings you to my door?" He crouched down and gave Thori some skritches behind his ears. The little guy got a lot of complaints because he constantly set things on fire and peed in shoes, but Steve was convinced that he just needed a lot of love and some guidance.

"What've you got there, Thori?" The Hel-puppy had some kind of plastic canister clutched in his jaws and a gleeful flame in his eyes. Thori yipped around the canister, spun in a circle, and dropped the object at Steve's feet. Then he sat down panting with a goofy, doggy grin on his face.

"Thori Deathripper brings you a present!"

Steve picked up the jar and examined it. There was no lid, and inside was a weird, olive-green hard substance that looked like it had been melted, mangled, and then left to solidify. On the side was a little plastic handle. He turned it over. On the front read: "Surgi-Wax: Brazilian Hard Wax for Private Parts".

Steve blinked once, twice, and flushed bright pink. Thori shook his head, flinging strings of drool all over the floor, the wall, Steve's hair, and into the wax jar.

"Scary girl," he panted, and puked up some half-digested crab rangoon onto the carpet.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this unbeta'd and probably terrible attempt at humorous writing.
> 
> This is not, uh, based on real life experience. AT ALL.
> 
> If y'all haven't read Journey Into Mystery issue #632, go and read it right now. It is the most delightful thing. Thori the Hel-hound puppy gets introduced there.


End file.
